


What you always wanted

by Phrenotobe_Archive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, No romo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe_Archive/pseuds/Phrenotobe_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He touches the stiff woolbeast felt of it, heat-treated and starched crisply. It’s a something he’s always wanted - a wiggler’s dream made real by a dreambubble pact and a re-set - but it feels fake and the colour seems to mock him. He’s got his first parade of arms in an hour, which is enough for the fluttercreatures to go into overdrive down in his acid sack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you always wanted

The uniform is on the dressmaker’s bodyform, tailored to his (stocky, mostly square) specifications. He flinches when he sees it - bright red, same as his eyes, goggles hanging from the neck and resting just above the pre-pinned medals on the right. There’s a note pinned on the left breast, sparkle and lavish loops of a confident hand, the signature filling up half of the space. 

Mcnubs  
told ya i would - HIC.

He touches the stiff woolbeast felt of it, heat-treated and starched crisply. It’s a something he’s always wanted - a wiggler’s dream made real by a dreambubble pact and a re-set - but it feels fake and the colour seems to mock him. He’s got his first parade of arms in an hour, which is enough for the fluttercreatures to go into overdrive down in his acid sack.  
Unwillingly he reaches for the jacket, pulls his shapeless thresherscout-trainee tunic off and dumps it. His undershirt will have to do, and it makes things very snug when the uniform padding fits over his chest. He taps the medals, unused to seeing pectorals outlined in such high definition - the red is so stark and intense that his eyes seem to waver, and he puts the goggles over his head, pulling them down to his neck and then back up to tuck the strap behind his eartips, adjusting the fit over his nose. There’s a clip on the back for those with ungainly horns, but he’s definitely not one of those. 

The medals are standard fare for his unit - some he’s won for them, some he’s only heard about from other people, since the awards are always shared just as much as demerits, to aid camaraderie - but he’s got an extra pip on his collar that shouldn’t be there, and a brilliant white band around his cuff behind the gold piping. 

His handheld telecommunication station buzzes in his uniform pants, the tune familiar and ever so slightly terrifying. 

HIC: shouty  
HIC: yo how does it fit  
HIC: take a shellfie let me sea

Karkat lifts the phone at an angle, squinting through his goggles at the screen and throwing the horns with his free hand. A phone-snap later and a quick message and it’s off through the universal alternian interstellar network system straight to her inbox.

HIC: wow  
HIC: ok i have to sea this for reel  
HIC: stay in that plaice while i come over buoy  
CG: OKAY.


End file.
